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This thread looks like fun, so I'm going to join in. Hooray!
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Aug 14, 2012 13:38
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| # ¿ Apr 25, 2024 05:33 |
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The Executive's Suite 497 words Tessa fumbled at the hidden comms unit, hands slick with Harlan’s blood. Though trembling all over, she knew she had to make it sound as if nothing was wrong so she paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and forced a smile on to her face. It only looked a little unhinged around the edges, but luckily there was no one there to see except Harlan, and he was dead. Wide-eyed, spattered with blood, and smiling, Tessa activated the comms unit and spoke a single sentence, “Lolly, Mr. Harlan would like to speak with you about my services.” Code for get in here right now. She thumbed the comms off and covered her face with her hands. Tessa heard Lolly walk in and close the door behind her, but didn’t look up until she spoke. “Tessa, what happened?” Lolly claimed that there was nothing that could shock her, and indeed, her face remained impassive as Tessa lowered her hands and met Lolly’s eyes. “He raped – he was raping me.” “He’s an Executive, sweetheart, and you’re a whore. That’s your job if he wants it to be.” Lolly shook her head and sighed as she surveyed the scene, “This is bad, Tessa. They’d never let you off.” Tessa pressed her hands to her chest, where her heart fluttered like a moth in a jar. “How can you make jokes right now? I’m going to get stripped, oh God, they’re going to Erase me. Lolly, what do I do?” “Calm down. And be quiet.” Lolly walked over to Harlan’s body and studied it for a moment, frowning. She picked up the knife that Tessa had dropped by his body, “We can get away before they realise he’s missing.” “We?” “We. I’ll take my chances in the Exclusion Zone before I let them Erase one of us. I know this guy, he works in IdentiCorp - he can switch our registrations so we can get out of the city.” Tessa stared at Lolly, hands still on her chest. Her heart started to slow as hope began to replace panic. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure.” Leaving Harlan’s body by the bed, Lolly took Tessa’s hands in her own, “Wait here, and don’t make a sound, okay?” Tessa nodded, watching as Lolly opened the bedroom door and called out to Harlan’s bodyguard, “Quinn, can you come in here for a moment? Executive Harlan wants to show you something.” Quinn entered, smirking, probably thinking the boss was finally going to let him play with the whores. As the door swung shut behind him, Lolly walked towards Quinn and stuck the knife in his neck, drawing it across his throat. She stepped neatly aside as he crumpled to the floor, blood gouting from the wound. “Lolly, what are you doing?!” “Don’t worry, Tessa, there’s no cameras in the Executive’s suite. loving sons of bitches.” She took Tessa’s hand again, pulling her towards the door, “Come on. We have to get out of here.”
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Aug 15, 2012 16:07
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drat, this prompt is cool, but I can't do it for reasons that I am sure you would find completely unacceptable and inadequate. I might be able to dramatically read an entry if I get time before the deadline though. Is that allowed even though I'm not actually entering?
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Aug 21, 2012 02:48
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Fanky Malloons (dramatic reading only) I didn't actually say I would do one for sure, it was merely a possibility that turned out not to be possible because all my free time this week was eaten up by mangy sharks.
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Aug 25, 2012 12:27
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I am in, and I choose the song Metal. I might even listen to it or read the lyrics or something before I start OR I MIGHT NOT.
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Sep 6, 2012 02:04
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Some people take Thunderdome seriously. You better believe it. I might forgo writing a story entirely and go berserker up in here snapping all your spines as I go instead. In the name of being metal, obviously.
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Sep 7, 2012 01:14
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Since I probably won't have time other than RIGHT NOW because I'm still on vacation, yet refuse to be labelled a failure, here it is, at exactly 1,000 words because I'm assuming the title doesn't count this round, and if it does, well gently caress you. The Sound of Metal Mallory's mouth was dry. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and tried work up some saliva so that he could swallow. He opened his eyes to find himself in total darkness. "What time is it?" he muttered. His head felt fuzzy. And heavy. He wanted to look at his watch, but he couldn't seem to convince his body to make the correct series of motions to bring his wrist in line with his eyes. He couldn’t stretch his legs either, something was in the way – and where were his blankets? He sat up and felt thick pile beneath his palms. Sliding his hands out, he noticed that the floor seemed to curve up, with the – carpet? blanket? what? – continuing up the walls. Though he was having trouble forming coherent thoughts, Mallory realized he was definitely not in the bed where he had fallen asleep. *** Marta listened to the tour guide’s patter as she checked over the bull again, making sure it was ready. "Dr. John Mallory, an engineering professor from MIT, has been helping our collection grow for the past year or so, restoring some of our old devices and building some brand new replica, featuring moving parts and everything! She knelt and checked the welding on the hatch one last time. She knew it would hold - she had welded it shut herself. "… Dr. Mallory is unable to join us, but his assistant, Marta, will demonstrate Dr. Mallory's latest feat of engineering for us at the end of the tour, a fearsome instrument of torture that was a favourite of the Ancient Greeks... Marta snorted derisively as the tour guide moved out of earshot. Assistant. It figured. Never mind that it was her who had figured out how to make the pipes in the head work, her who had perfected the formula for the bronze alloy so that it wouldn't melt during use. Marta had done all of the work, suffering Mallory’s constant chauvinism and numerous advances with good grace and polite rebuttals; slaving day and night to do everything the way he wanted it without ever complaining, and for what? Mallory had made it clear in the end that he would never see her as an equal; she would never be good enough, because she wasn't a man. The final demonstration of his ego, and his disdain for the mere fact of her gender, had taken Marta's breath away. Give Mallory first author on her research project or he'd make sure it was never published? And now the museum staff were calling her his assistant? Grinding her teeth, Marta stood up, hissing "gently caress you, Mallory," and rapping sharply on the bull's hindquarter as she did so. It made a soft, metallic 'bong', the thick felt lining on the inside muting the noise considerably. Good. She busied herself lighting the fire for when the tour group arrived, and started to feel better about the whole thing. *** Mallory heard a muffled thud above his head. Kneeling, he reached up and felt more of the pile running in a smooth arc above his head. He was in a small, rounded space, lined with something soft. A thread of panic arrowed the fog clouding his thoughts. He dropped to all fours and crawled forward until he felt the wall start to rise in front of him. Mallory followed the pile with his hands, feeling metal where it ended and the walls narrowed, and then a series of tubes that disappeared beyond his reach and, he knew, into the head. They were pipes, and he was inside the brazen bull. ”No,” he whispered, “Oh Jesus, Marta, no.” *** Marta turned up the flame as the tour group filed in. The tour guide was still prattling. “Prepare yourselves for perhaps the most gruesome exhibit we’ve had to offer at the Torture Museum in some time, maybe even ever! You and Dr. Mallory went out of your way to ensure it sounds as real as possible, right Marta?” “You bet.” Marta smiled beatifically, “You could almost believe there was a real person in there.” *** “Oh my God. Oh, mother of God, no.” Mallory heaved himself at the bull’s side, where he knew the hatch was. Where it should have been. But he met only the implacable resistance of felt atop firmly welded metal. How could this be? He had checked it less than 24 hours ago – how could that stupid bitch Marta have pulled out all the wires, the machinery, and set this up? And she must have drugged him on top of that, and somehow gotten him shut up in here. That conniving little – Mallory suddenly realized that he was sweating. The floor was getting warm. Hot, even. He was suddenly furious. “You bitch!” he screamed, pounding on the bull’s sides, “You can’t do this to me you bitch!” *** “The bull is designed so that the victim’s screams would be converted into a sort-of musical version of an angry bull’s vocalizations, via a series of pipes in the head…” The group ooohed appreciatively as the bull started bellow as the fire made its underside glow. “…of course, our bull is mechanically operated and the fire is just for show, right Marta?” *** Mallory’s rage morphed into hysteria as the walls of the bull became too hot to touch and he exhausted all of the epithets he knew. His universe became nothing but a blinding, white-hot pain as his skin started to blister and, in between incoherent shrieks of pain and fear he heard himself screaming, “I am an American citizen, you cannot do this to me!” It didn’t help. *** Marta could barely hear the tour group applauding over the bull’s strangely melodious bellowing. She basked in their admiration as the noise began to quiet and then, finally, stopped. If there was one thing she and Mallory had ever agreed on, it was this: the brazen bull wasn’t just beautiful – it was magnificent.
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Sep 7, 2012 04:20
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TequilaJesus posted:The only reason this thread's so quiet is we're all too busy Actually, I've been busy practicing my spine-snapping technique, but each to their own.
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Sep 9, 2012 18:16
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Martello posted:But seriously, how loving awful is Mallory or how psychopathic and evil is Marta? You've clearly never met anyone who has spent an extended amount of time amongst the ivory towers of academia.
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Sep 10, 2012 00:28
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I'm going to have to step my game up, I want to throw down some bastardly prompts SO BAD YOU GUYS DON'T EVEN KNOW.
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Sep 10, 2012 02:03
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I'm in like a...djinn? Edit: Of course someone would post that very (almost) same word while I wasn't looking. OF COURSE.
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Sep 10, 2012 22:33
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3) Windigo?
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Sep 10, 2012 22:59
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Martello posted:Since Shine is obviously too much of a schoolgirl to bring his fine chiseled rear end into the Thunderdome, I'll say it for him - you fuckers should work out. I can't because my gym is closed until further notice due to flooding  Shine posting in the Thunderdome would certainly soothe my broken heart though. Hup hup hup.
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Sep 11, 2012 02:39
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Just so we get this out of the way, exactly how many people are writing "deal with the devil"? I hadn't even considered the notion. Actually, this is the first prompt where I haven't immediately felt the spark of an idea, OH NO 
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Sep 11, 2012 15:44
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sebmojo posted:This prompt is a motherfucker and I don't even know why. I know, ugh, what the gently caress.
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Sep 14, 2012 00:09
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Oh thank god, I thought I was the only one having trouble. It seems so simple at first glance but it's really hard to write something that doesn't sound like a kid's campfire story. I know, I keep going back to look and the prompt and wondering "Is it right? Am I going to bring shame upon myself, and dishonour to my ancestors if I write this?"
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Sep 14, 2012 01:02
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Black Griffon posted:I am currently doing Olympic gods in the style of Cormac McCarthy and despite its horror I do not now how or when this path grabbed me and dragged me to these unfathomable depths of such wrongness that neither me nor my friends could see an end in anything but defeat. Dammit, mine also involves gods and sports, albeit lesser known ones (the Gods, not the sport). Post yours soon so I can make sure mine isn't somehow exactly the same
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Sep 14, 2012 02:19
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removed
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Sep 15, 2012 02:56
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Black Griffon posted:I still have an hour left, right? Don't think so, unless my computer clock is way off. Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:Submission Deadline: 10:00PM US ET on Fri, Sep. 14.
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Sep 15, 2012 03:05
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Black Griffon posted:What the hell, my clock says it's 9:00. Fuuuuuck. Ha, which is extra confusing, because it should have been this one. Not that it matters since the Thunderdome Gods are feeling oddly benevolent right now. REVEL IN IT WHILE IT LASTS. Edit: ALSO, if our stories are too similar, now I can blame Black Griffon because I posted mine first and before the deadline, aw yeah. (They are probably not too similar at all)
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Sep 15, 2012 03:31
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I'm finding all this goodwill from the judges very strange and suspicious. Just sayin' 
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Sep 15, 2012 21:14
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Stuporstar posted:It breaks my heart to see you all thinking we're planning something extra evil behind closed doors. We only have your best interests at heart. Black Griffon, Fanky Malloons, please step into the next room If it's all the same to you, I will stay right over here and wear this ravishing tinfoil hat - which is both sylish and functional - while I make sure that weapons I keep about my person are all in working order. 
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Sep 15, 2012 23:14
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Stuporstar posted:Still waiting for him to get is rear end in gear, and Nyarai has gone awol. If I were to suggest that I killed them, would it make me eligible to usurp their positions as judge and arbiter of Thunderdome cred? Just askin'
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Sep 16, 2012 23:06
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Stuporstar posted:I'm declaring three winners this week to take over judging while I'm away hunting down derelict judges and making them pay. YES. Prepare to tremble under the loving caress of my iron fist, peons. 
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Sep 17, 2012 00:56
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WEEK VII THUNDERDOME JUDGEMENT
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toanoradian posted:I say, as an ex-judge (thus having more intelligence), you should consult the two. I agree. If you just ran around posting challenges willy nilly and expecting your fellow former rabble-members to fall in line, there'd be anarchy. Edit: REDACTED
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Sep 17, 2012 03:10
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toanoradian posted:'beyond thunderdome' THERE IS NO BEYOND THUNDERDOME 
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Sep 17, 2012 04:04
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Jonked posted:Oh, I know it's not that bad. I got my head around it easily enough in that Intro to Poetry class half a decade ago. It's just actually trying to write using rules and shits, man. I'm a rule breaker, I don't follow what The Authority tells me to do. On that note, I may allow some creative cheating to slide. But you better cheat spectacularly, or I'll
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Sep 17, 2012 12:22
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:In for FTFY
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Sep 17, 2012 19:30
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AMAZING
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Since SurreptitiousMuffin and Bad Seafood both claim to be in 'different' 'timezones,' I will henceforth be keeping order in here whilst they are sleeping or whatever it is they do in their moon countries. The judges have eyes on you AT ALL TIMES, BITCHES.
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Sep 17, 2012 22:42
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Y Kant Ozma Post posted:I thought this was a supportive environment. This is the Thunderdome, not the Love Shack. All future complaints about this round must be presented in iambic pentameter. Martello, you have to write your poem while doing goblet squats. I'll know if you don't.
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Sep 18, 2012 21:34
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Martello posted:And as Her Fankness instructed I shall thumb it out while performing Intelligent Telephone Goblet Squats. Pics or it didn't happen
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Sep 19, 2012 00:52
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Jon Joe posted:I thought to throw my hat into the ring. I will allow it, but your entry better be awesome, or I'll cut you (from the competition)
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Sep 19, 2012 03:12
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kangaroojunk posted:One more. You can only enter if you go full Shakespeare and write a sonnet.
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Sep 20, 2012 01:13
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Twelve hours to go and less than half of you are done. Chop chop people. For the dunderheads that can't wrap their tiny minds around 0:00 GMT, that's 19:00 EST. Get busy, motherfuckerrrrs.
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Sep 20, 2012 18:20
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:E: Dude. -1,000 judge points.
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Sep 21, 2012 15:10
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Black Griffon posted:This is the weakest loving week ever. True dat. Benagain should have to complete some kind of Thunderdome forfeiter challenge in order to be able to compete in future rounds.
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Sep 21, 2012 20:14
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Black Griffon posted:"I say", said one who sat at fireplace,  Black Griffon knows where it's at 
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Sep 22, 2012 00:33
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Don't mistake my honeyed words earlier for anything other than a thin shell masking my apocalyptic disappointment at every single one of you. This is how this week's round makes me feel:  You better prepare yourselves for some vicious haiku critiques.
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Sep 22, 2012 20:11
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Prepare yourselves for some devastating haiku critiques: budgieinspector Very topical I think Detroit would approve Do wigs count as hats? Black Griffon An epic journey Even though your hats were wrong I still think: awesome sebmojo Lasers, robots, woah An enjoyable cadence Shocking twist, that bird! Wrageowrapper Historical stuff But these hats were not silly Needs more strumpets Jonked A unicorn hat! Hip, but it still mostly works Just sort of ends though Sitting Here Hobo poetry Blood and gore and anticlimax So many commas Noah A promising trout With dystopian setting Yet something's missing Jon Joe Oh, enjambement Have you never heard the term? Hat bomb all your stops Dr. Klocktopussy A gruesome warning Good rhymes, although late (and rushed?) I am also bored Chairchucker Although comedic This papal anomaly Still made me want death toanoradian You have no rhythm Syntactically awkward But, a bonus hat! Bear Sleuth Rats and D&D A wall of text with no breaks It's okay, I guess Bassetking Your hat choice was poor But rhyming couplets saved it You were late, gently caress you Kangaroojunk Another late one And a gross panty sniffer You are disgusting Erik Shawn-Bohner Cowboy poetry Deep and meaningful for spew But you can't win, so Martello This is some real talk But a burqa barely counts How many goblets?
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Sep 24, 2012 00:51
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toanoradian posted:Which of the three hats I mentioned is the bonus hat? I know, I even gave you an extra bonus point for writing a blank-verse complaint and you still came out near the bottom. The bonus hat was the ushanka. You're lucky though, because a ushanka was also the unbonus hat, it just depended on the context in which it was used.
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Sep 24, 2012 02:00
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